


I and Love and You

by alchemystique



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three little words that mean nothing, and everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I and Love and You

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much just fluff - loads and loads of fluff, based in some nebulous post-4x02 place where everything is happy and there's no more drama and Killian and Emma go home every night to catch another episode of Breaking Bad on Netflix. (Killian breaks a solemn vow not to watch ahead, and feels terrible about it for weeks, but - he had to know if they every beat Gus.)

It starts out simple enough. She presses a kiss to Killian's forehead as she leaves the diner, turning away and ducking out the door before she can see his gobsmacked look (he'll deny it under pain of death, but David sees the scrambled eggs that tumble out of his mouth as he stares at her retreating backside.

"Love you," she'd said, as easy as anything, flouncing off in a cloud of flowing golden hair.

Henry shoots him a strange look, confusion in those all-seeing eyes of hi - Killian's teeth crack as he shuts his mouth and returns to shoveling eggs onto his fork.

\------

"Hi," she says, three nights later, as he tries and fails to catch his breath. There are still stars behind his eyes, his body feels blissfully numb, and he turns his unfocused gaze on her as she grins at him, the sheets pooling around her middle, her breasts bobbing as she tucks her arms under her head, completely bare and all his to enjoy. 

_Siren_ , she is, the sort of temptress a man would kill a hundred thousand foes for.

(He's been reading the Iliad. _Sue_ him.)

"Hi." The response is a lazy summation of his thoughts, but for all his words he has none to properly convey the things buzzing at the edges of his mind.

"I think we broke out last record," she tells him, and for the life of his he can't quite keep his gaze on her face. She's wrecked, her smile lazy and her hair a tumbling disaster against freckled skin, he can count three bite marks down her chest (he's not even remotely sorry), knows there are a varying number of scratches down his back to mirror them - he can feel one of her legs still trembling next to his.

"And possibly the sound barrier, as well."

(He reads quite a lot.)

Her face goes redder than a ripe cherry, and he chuckles, a bit, quiet and soft as his shoulder tic up and down. She's not usually the most vocal of lovers, quiet whispers of his name and soft curses against his skin (he loves them all, has a catalogue of each noise and the moan that goes with it), but tonight he'd been on a mission, and he's certain he's exceeded his own expectations.

He likes her like this, open, barriers down, soft smiles and warm fingers dancing down his arm - he likes the quiet moments when they've momentarily slaked their lust and they just _are_ , here, together. (He's waited so long, he can feel his need for her building again, good _gods_ this woman.)

He likes the way she fusses with his hair, and the way her body responds so carefully to his even when the passion has reached it's peak and tipped over the edge.

She hums, one arm falling to brush at a tuft of hair stuck to his forehead - they're sweaty and _disgusting_ and he should really convince her to try out her new showerhead with him.

" _Seriously_?" she asks, reading him as well as he reads her, and he sighs, going for the drama, tossing himself sideways and away from her, but she's having none of it - her body rolls to meet his, flesh on flesh - and they _definitely_ need to bathe.

"I was going to offer to scrub your back, but now I think I'll let you fester in the stench of this room."

She makes a face as his turn of phrase. "Oh my god. I haven't had shower sex since..." Her gaze goes distant as she pinpoints the exact spot of her last amorous bathing encounter, but she blinks the memory away with a fierce look, chasing it off as she stares at him. Her hand makes a trail through the hair on his chest as she meets his gaze, and he lets the relieves sigh slip through his nose. "We are pretty gross."

Despite her protest that she's too tired to move, they make it without incident to the shower, her giggles trailing after him as he plays with the dials to get a proper temperature, and as promised, he soaps her up with the intense focus of a man quite used to ignoring tempting distractions.

Of course it all goes to hell when she drops to her knees, droplets of water sliding off her nose and over her breasts from his hair - the water blasting hot against his back (This will become an ongoing squabble, she likes it scalding, hot enough to peel away skin, and no amount of subtly turning it down ever seems to fool her). She takes him into her mouth and he lets out a colorful string of curse words, some of which he's not entirely sure actually constitute words.

They most certainly break any record they might or might not have been keeping - he takes her against the wall, her fingers gouging deep half-moons into his shoulders, one slippery thrust sending her head into the tile with a loud 'thunk', and when he's spent he presses her back into the stream of water and takes his tongue to her.

They wash themselves clean in a freezing splash and bundle themselves into oversized towels - she kisses him dizzy once they've brushed their teeth with the noxious "Minty Fresh" gel she keeps (Her eyes linger on his toothbrush in the cup next to hers as she wraps the towel around her more tightly, and he wonders if there's something he's missing in the significance of the tool.)

Her stomach emits the kind of noise used to frighten small children into doing their chores, and once they've dressed (he sneaks a final look at her as her hands and head are encased in her sweater, and doesn't bother to apologize when she catches him) they slog to the kitchen to raid the cupboards.

Settled atop the countertop, adamantly refusing Emma's proffered 'barbeque chips' in favor of a slice of fresh melon, he quirks a brow at her over the crackling sound of her late night snack. "So, was it as you remembered?"

She's a smart woman who catches his meaning easily, but her smile edges a bit towards melancholy as she stares at him, and he feels his stomach drop - this is still very new, this thing they have (this especially, an entire weekend to themselves and no monsters in sight), and he's always wondering if he's taken a misstep with her. He stills as her hand comes up, and she thumbs at his cheek with a tremulous smile. "I love you."

The words themselves are simple - she's dropped them before, some times easier than others, but this time is different - this time there is some new bit of import in them.

His gaze searches hers for a moment, eyes locked in some battle of will to eek out her meaning - and she _lets_ him, lets him discover all the things she's unwilling or unready to say.

He is _different_ for her, that much he has always understood, and she seems intent on reminding him as much tonight. He is the one who stayed, who fought for her, who _waited_ when others would (had) not.

He lets the moment pass, fingers flitting across the counter to steal a chip from her bag, and she laughs at the face he makes, happy chuckles echoing through her empty kitchen.

\------

"Oh my god _I love you_."

David glances up from his own desk with a curious frown, staring at the box in Killians arms - one Emma snatches from him with all the giddy exuberance of a child.

"I'll have you know I nearly parted with my other hand for the last bearclaw. I thought Anna meant to slay me with her glare."

"Oh please."

"No, Hook's right," David buts in, giving Killian a surprised smile at the Styrofoam cup he sets on the mans desk. "Anna is scary."

"Anna cried about a puppy in a bowtie yesterday."

"It's the sweet ones you've got to watch out for," Killian tells them, lingering beside Emma's desk as she rips at the pastry he'd brought, rolling her eyes at her fathers crisp head nod.

"Men," she mutters with all the derision she can muster around a mouthful of baked goods. 

They prattle on for a bit, inconsequential nothing in this strange time of peace and quiet, until he finally begins to feel his presence unneeded (he's just dropping in, had only meant to stay a minute, but Emma had requested his maritime expertise on a vandalism case and he's never been one to leave a beautiful woman in the lurch).

"I should go," he tells them, and Emma gives him a look he's eager not to misconstrue as disappointed.

She yanks at his collar to press a quick kiss to his lips, and they both ignore her fathers loud and uncomfortable cough.

"Dinner's at seven," she tells him, and he feels a tug of affection when he remembers the shy way she'd invited him to the Charming family dinner. "Bring pie."

"As the lady commands." He bows, shooting David a smirk when the man rolls his eyes.

He brings three pies, and Snow gives him her most charming smile as he attempts to explain to her he wasn't sure of preferences.

Emma ruffles his hair as she passes him to the fridge, and he does not use a restroom break as a moment to compose himself before dinner.

\------

"Killian, no!"

Peace, as ever in Storybrooke, doesn't last. A new foe, in the form of the very dragon he and Emma had both fought once before, this one full of latent anger at nearly everyone in this bloody town, and if the bitch thought she could threaten Emma she's got another think coming.

Jumping in front of a spell aimed for Emma isn't one of the best ideas he's ever had, but he can't say he wouldn't do it again.

The blast of magic that follows goes unseen as he crumbles - he can feel the spell, pins and needles as his legs go numb, and he blinks to see Emma hovering over him, terrified worry etched into her gaze. 

"Hey beautiful," he says, blinking back another rush of pain, and he can see by the way her eyes shift she's remembering the last time he'd said the words - he'd been in about as much pain then, too.

"Killian. Come on. Look at me - hey. Hey, don't -."

Her face is a mess of confusing emotions, fear chief among them, and he raises a hand to brush the furrow from her brow - or he means to, at least, though it doesn't quite happen. He's not sure what is happening, only that the pain seems to be gone.

" _Killian_." It's a heartbroken whisper of a word, and he frowns. Honestly, he's right here.

"I love you," he tells her, because it seems like the time, but something breaks in her expression, tears curling over her cheeks - she might be shaking him, he can't tell but it seems like he's being shaken. It doesn't make sense; she's said the words to him enough times by now for it not to be strange, to hear them tumble from his own lips, but she's looking at him like he's stolen something from her and he _doesn't understand_.

"Hey. Hey. Stay awake for me, okay? Just - just stay awake."

He hadn't realized how tired he was until she said the words, but now he's exhausted, can barely keep his eyes open. There's a warmth, near his middle, where Emma's hands are pressed, but everything else is blissfully numb, and his eyes droop closed without his say so.

"Killian!"

It's the last thing he hears before everything goes dark.

\------

Emma does a whole lot of bargaining in the time between when Killian's eyes drop shut and when they open again.

A lot.

She's not sure who she's making these deals with, only that given the option she'd probably sell her soul to the highest bidder just to see those blue eyes blink back up at her again.

Her magic rushes through her in a frantic haze as she yells at him, gold light gleaming at her fingertips, and she wants him to see it - wonders vaguely while she's begging a god she doesn't believe in, wonders if this is what her love looks like, shining and bright and floating around Killian while her eyes fill with tears.

She can't lose him. She _won't_. She is so done with _losing_ people.

The kiss is a last ditch effort as his pulse weakens beneath her fingers - her thumb brushes over stubble as her tears flutter off her lashes and over his cheek, and when she presses her lips to his nothing happens.

For a moment, the whole world is still and silent and she's preparing to rage against it when the light bursts out around them, blasting her head back with the force of it, and Killian takes in a deep gulp of air, blinking blearily up at her.

"Emma?" He seems confused, still, and she has to fight the urge to smack him.

"You stupid _idiot_ , I swear to god! Who's the savior, here, huh?"

Yelling is a great alternative when crying is the only other option, and she's gotten pretty good at the first, when it comes to him.

"Are we debating titles, or are you just angry at me?"

"You could have died," she tells him, the frantic edge slipping into her voice, and something clicks behind his eyes as he takes her in. 

"Oh, Emma. I wouldn't dare. You'd raise me from the depths of hell just to make sure you did the job yourself."

The worst part is, he's _right_ , and the thought alone, not that long ago, would have sent her running for the hills, but she clings harder, now, her arms curling around him as he pushes up on his elbows. 

"What happened to Maleficent?" he mutters against her shoulder after a while, and Emma feels her face heat. 

"I...uh...I think I fried her. Like, to death."

She startles at his laugh, leaning away from him as his shoulders shake, and for a long moment he stares at her, unable to calm his chuckles. When he finally gets them under control, his hand curls around her cheek, fingers brushing hair back from her face. 

"God, I love you," he tells her, eyes shining and bright and happy, and when she presses in for a kiss he groans under the weight of her, tipping back into the wet grass again as he drags her to him.


End file.
